


tell me i'm a bad man, kick me like a stray

by asphaltworld



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Collars, Established Relationship, M/M, Petplay, victor is a good dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltworld/pseuds/asphaltworld
Summary: “A new dog, Mr. Sionis?” Victor swears the salesgirl looks a little queasy at the thought of Roman having a sweet, loving animal in his possession. So, standing behind Roman, he smiles hugely, showing off his metal teeth for full effect. He may as well give her a reason, if she wants to be scared so bad.Roman takes Victor shopping for accessories.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	tell me i'm a bad man, kick me like a stray

“A new dog, Mr. Sionis?” Victor swears the salesgirl looks a little queasy at the thought of Roman having a sweet, loving animal in his possession. So, standing behind Roman, he smiles hugely, showing off his metal teeth for full effect. He may as well give her a reason, if she wants to be scared so bad.

“Yeah. He’s a big, gorgeous animal, but so dumb sometimes. I need something really secure, to keep him in check for his own good.” Roman’s voice comes out like velvet, even as he’s doing his best to humiliate Victor in public. “And I want the best for him, of course.”

Victor bites the inside of his cheek and silently holds the basket of shit they’re buying today.

There is no dog.

There’s only Victor, crawling over lush carpet in Roman’s bedroom and fetching house slippers in his mouth. Pawing at satin trousers and silk dressing gowns when he’s being bad. Roman loves having the excuse to put him on his leash and lash it to the bed frame, keeping him there until he feels like Victor’s learned his lesson. He always lets Victor onto the bed afterward, of course.

They’re at the most expensive home good store in Gotham, but Victor honestly still isn’t expecting much to choose from. His mouth falls open when they’re led to a display of rich, glossy leather collars of all sizes. They’re set in a glass case, lit softly and flatteringly. All Victor had said was he wanted was something black, and well. That looks easy enough to accommodate. 

Roman appraises the selection in front of them, nodding to himself. Then he says, “You know, I think Fido is about the same size as Mr. Zsasz, here.”

Victor’s throat is a desert, suddenly. This wasn’t part of the plan. He figured the shopping trip itself would be uneventful. Wrong and unimaginative as usual. 

“Oh.” The salesgirl looks between the two of them with a furrowed brow. She doesn’t say anything else, which is smart of her. She must know Roman, or have heard of him.

“Yeah, I think we can test the fit on him. There’s not too much of a size difference. I mean, these collars are adjustable, right? You're selling me a quality product, aren’t you?” Roman’s grin is ice cold. 

“Of course, Mr. Sionis.” She shifts on her feet and shakes her hair out. “Has anything in particular caught your eye?” 

“Something black, definitely,” he says. “And I think something with studs, right, Victor?” 

“Yeah. Why not.”

She turns from them to sort through the collars, looking for Victor’s size, he guesses. She must do this a lot, because she doesn’t have to look at him too closely before she starts pulling things out of the case.

Roman’s smile is wide as ever, and the attendant hands over three collars for him to look at. 

“Just to start with,” she says.

“Come here.” He draws Victor in, close to him. 

The clerk’s behind Roman’s back, so she lets her expression slip a little and rolls her eyes minorly. Normally, it would be a massive fucking mistake to believe that Victor’s going to be any nicer or more forgiving than Roman. But right now, he’s preoccupied. 

Roman slides his hands up from Victor’s back to his neck, resting them there the way the collar is about to. Victor’s sure he can feel his heartbeat speed up, and saliva collects in his mouth because there’s no way to swallow without being obvious under Roman’s touch. Roman has a crucial few inches of height on him, not the kind of thing Victor usually pays attention to, but right now it’s all he can think about. Victor has to swallow eventually, and he swears Roman’s hands tighten just a tad when he does, to feel his throat flex. A wave of heat passes over his body, almost like a blush, and he’s very aware of his dick and the soft fabric brushing against it. 

Roman replaces his hands with a heavy leather collar that has two rows of flat studs. He doesn’t have to do this, but he leaves a hand on Victor’s throat as he fastens the collar. The slight pressure feels good, Victor has to admit. And the leather is much softer and more comfortable than the cheap collars he’s tried this with before. 

“There we are. Hmm. A perfect fit, but let’s try the other ones on.”

Roman’s right up in his face, mostly keeping his eyes on the collar but when they flick up to meet Victor’s, there’s a mean little glint in them. He’s feigning professionalism, when Victor knows, he can fucking feel, that he wants to shove Victor down to his knees and take what’s his. 

“Now this one,” Roman says. “Feel that leather, Victor? That’s supple. It’s nice. And I really only want the best for any pet of mine.”

“It does feel nice.” Victor’s voice sounds like it’s been dragged over concrete. Roman’s gaze feels like the sun on his skin; necessary, warming, liable to burn if it's on him for too long.

“Perfect for dressy occasions, right?” Roman says, turning his smile on the salesgirl. She nods. 

Victor’s not sure how much more of this he’s supposed to take without having to run to the bathroom to jerk off. His dick is halfway hard, pressing against the fly of his pants.

“Okay, last one, Victor,” Roman says near his ear, leaning forward to undo the buckle. 

The final one is shiny, embossed with a lacquered crocodile print. 

“This is cow leather?” Roman asks, without bothering to turn his head toward the girl.

“Yes, that’s right. Full-grain.” 

“Oh, that’s nice. Yeah, we need something _durable_ like that.” He lets a beat go by. “You never know, with dogs. Always getting into messes.” 

Victor closes his eyes. He feels Roman’s palm hot against his neck, and then the cool underside of the leather. It stays there for almost a minute, and Roman must be considering it silently. Then it’s off, and he can look Roman in the eye again without being knocked on his ass by lust. 

“I’ll take all three,” he says, and hands over a matte black credit card. 

When they slide into the car, Roman in the front passenger seat for once, he stops Victor from leaving right away. 

“Let me do this.” His voice is deep and rough, and Victor stays completely still as he pulls out a collar, unwraps it from the gift box he had the clerk put it in, and fastens it around his neck. It’s the studded one.

The weight around his neck feels good, almost like hands resting there. When it’s secure, Roman spreads his hand over the nape of Victor’s neck, in a touch intimate enough to make Victor shiver. He gives the collar a slight tug. 

“You were a good boy today. So good and patient for me out there, even though I know that bitch was getting on your nerves. Are you excited to get home?” 

“Yeah, boss. Thank you.” 

Roman’s uncharacteristically quiet on the elevator ride up to the loft. Victor’s careful to always think of it as “the loft,” never as “home.” Roman had him move in unceremoniously a few months ago, into one of the many empty rooms. They never really had a conversation about it, but it’s more convenient for them both. Victor’s not complaining. 

“Down, boy,” Roman says once the door swings shut behind them. He pushes down on Victor’s shoulder, just to make his meaning clear. 

Down Victor goes. 

“Let me get your leash.” There’s a click at the back of Victor’s neck. 

Normally, he only does this on carpeted floor, but the loft entryway is smooth stone. 

“It’s time for dinner, Victor. Come sit by me, ‘kay?” He has this way of saying “okay” that makes it clear he’s really not asking. Roman doesn’t really ask questions; sometimes he’ll inflect the end of his sentence upward, like he’s asking one, but there’s only one acceptable answer. 

He looks up at Roman, who’s looking down fondly, and then there’s a tug on the leash and they move forward together. 

At the dining table, there’s a place for Roman. There’s nothing there for Victor, though. 

It takes him a minute to see the dog dishes set out on the floor. There’s a tasteful salmon pink mat under the two bowls, and he crawls over to check them out. 

“That’s for you,” Roman says, unnecessarily, as he takes his own seat. He looks at him, beaming, and Victor returns the look. He runs his fingertips over the short silver bristle of Victor’s head and Victor pushes his head back against the hand.

“I always loved this color on you,” he says. “It just looks so good, and it freaks people out. It’s the best.” He pauses. “ _You’re_ the best.”

When Victor’s being Roman’s dog, he doesn’t talk much. It’s great to get a respite from the expectations of human conversation, even though he doesn’t mind talking to Roman the way he hates talking to most people. 

Roman starts eating first. As usual, he narrates their meal with the details of whatever it is they’re eating. It’s top sirloin cooked with onions and garlic, and a small side of mashed potatoes. Comfort food. 

“We still have the same meal, you know. Just, yours is cut up a little differently.” He drags a piece of steak through the carrot sauce drizzled across the plate. “We have the same drink, too. Laphroaig, baby.”

It’s just like Roman to pour fifty dollars’ worth of whiskey into a dog bowl. He doesn’t do Victor the courtesy of ice cubes, because they’d ruin the visual. 

The food is as good as usual, though. Victor would never admit it, but he’s getting used to top-notch cooking and expensive ingredients. Eating has always been an afterthought for him, and he used to go weeks eating things like canned tuna, dried noodles and cereal. But Roman revels in sensory pleasures of all kinds, and he doesn’t like to see Victor eating anything he deems inferior.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” Roman says. He's pressing down the heel of his hand against his cock through his trousers, face set into something rough. 

Victor lowers his head and laps at the booze. It’s not the ideal way to drink something that burns as it goes down, but Victor doesn’t mind a little physical discomfort. It’s completely different from the bottom-shelf piss his old boss, years ago, used to get for him.

This thing they do is theatrical, but it’s also their relationship distilled down to its bare essentials. Roman wants to inspire fear, and Victor does that for him. Roman gives back the only way he knows how, by dominating and bestowing fancy material items and sharing a little of the luxury and wealth he’s swimming in. Victor’s free to terrorize Gotham and then come back to rest on a silken cushion, far from the police’s reach. 

Victor finishes eventually and looks up at Roman, a strategically vulnerable look on his face to go with the whiskey running down his chin. 

Roman grins, picking up the leash again and leading them to his room. 

_Finally,_ Victor thinks dizzily as his knees sink into thick white carpet. 

Roman disappears for a minute to change into his lounge clothes, leaving Victor alone with his thoughts and his hard on. 

He comes back out in satiny shorts and a white tank top and a stupid robe, and sits on the edge of his bed.

“C’mere.” He pats the sliver of bed between his legs. Victor meets him there, on his hands and knees. 

He takes Victor’s face in his hands, gripping his jaw hard. 

“I love your fucking mouth,” he says, as he traces a finger over its shape. Victor’s jaw is slack with arousal, and Roman’s touch ends up on his teeth, touching the gold lightly. “You’ll let me do whatever I want to you, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, a little slurred from Roman’s hand on his mouth and from the need curling inside him. “Anything you want.”

“Then suck.” Roman pushes two of his fingers into Victor’s mouth, pressed down against his wet tongue. Victor obliges, adding suction and flexing his tongue against the intrusion. Roman watches intently, with a focus that lights his face up. It makes Victor want to squirm, but he stays steady.

“You’re so good at this, baby.” Roman’s dick is a thick, satiny line, still in his shorts, but Victor wants to get it out. Roman can’t hold out much longer, can he? Self-denial’s not usually his thing. 

Victor pulls off with a flourish, to give an advantageous view of his lips and tongue and how they might be used. Lets his tongue hang out for a moment, dog-like. 

Roman’s eyes flash, and he reels him in by the collar. 

“Are you a good boy?” he asks. Victor nods. “Then stick out your tongue for me.” 

Roman pulls the shorts down around his ankles, and then he’s sitting there naked from the waist down, fist around his dick. 

“Show me you’re a good boy,” he says breathlessly, shoving himself forward to rub the head of cock against Victor’s tongue. Victor licks up against him, tasting salt and soap. 

Roman thrusts forward, sliding into his mouth and then Victor’s in the quiet, thoughtless place he goes when his mouth is full of dick. Victor watches his teeth, bobs up and down to accommodate Roman’s thickness, lets himself relax and drool so it’s all nice and wet. 

Roman groans, says, “Zsasz, you’re doing so good for me. Excellent, _fuck_ , excellent work. Yeah. ” 

Victor moans and Roman gets his hand around the nape of his neck. 

“I know you’re hard in your, fucking, in those slacks you always wear. Such a slut for it. Go ahead, take it out,” he pants.

Victor’s brow creases, but he manages to unbuckle his pants and stick his hands down them. The first touch is almost too much, and he squeezes himself. He tries to focus on licking at Roman’s cock instead, slipping it deeper into his mouth.

“Victor, pet.” Roman pauses to moan theatrically. “Touch yourself for me. I want to see you come all over the floor. Because you belong to me.” 

Victor nods slightly, as best he can with his mouth full. He takes Roman deeper, and it gets harder to breathe. So he gets one hand around his dick, and it’s already as hard as it’s ever been, slick with precome, as he gets into a rhythm that almost matches what he’s doing to Roman. 

The discomfort of taking Roman so deep, making sure he really fucking feels it, is a massive turn-on. His hand speeds up and he makes some low, animal noise as he feels his orgasm approach. Roman scratches at his scalp, and nods at him. 

“Come for me, Victor. Be a good boy, like I know you are.” 

Roman’s urging is all he needs before he’s coming, hot and wet over his hand and the floor before Roman. Shiny splatter on his shoes. 

“Don’t stop sucking, baby,” Roman warns, digging his nails in. 

Right. Roman’s dick. 

He applies himself to it with a desperation Roman’s sure to enjoy, and he makes eye contact as much as possible. Roman loves that shit. It’s as he’s pressing his tongue against the slit that Roman comes, with a wail and no warning, the bitter taste coating his tongue. Victor’s dick twitches, even though he’s still coming down from his own orgasm. 

“Open your mouth.” Victor does, so Roman can see his mouth filled with his cum. He smiles meanly. He flops back onto his bed, still fully made.

“Oh, god, Victor, I’m getting too old for this,” he says suddenly. “I can’t come like that every day. It’s too much...” He lifts his head. “Get up here.”

Victor climbs up. The expensive leather of his collar doesn’t even stick to his skin. The backing is soft. The bed’s soft too, and Roman looks almost content as he turns his head to meet Victor’s eye. 

“That was really fucking good,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“What a good fucking dog.” He’s smiling, and without the shades or the gloves, his robe slipping off his shoulders, he almost looks like a nice, vulnerable man, like the kind Victor might have tried to like in his 20s. The illusion makes it that much better when Roman leans forward to tug on the loop at the back of Victor’s collar. 

“This thing is pretty nice, huh? Shopping was fun? Wish I could buy you some suits, but I suppose your line of work is too dirty for that kind of thing.” 

Victor wouldn’t mind a few more afternoons spent with Roman fussing over him, though.

“I could do suits,” he says slowly. He meets Roman’s eyes. “Give me a reason to wear them, boss.”

Roman laughs. “Okay! You wanna go with me to that snoozefest of a fuckin’ dinner that Wayne Enterprises is putting on next week? You have to promise not to do anything too messy, though. And I fucking mean that. Good tailoring is hard to find, and hard to replace.” 

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’m going to need a promise. You, beside me, for the entire night. I don’t want my pet embarrassing me.” He doesn’t look so harmless anymore, with the excitement in his eyes.

Another victory for Victor. 

“Whatever you say, boss.” 

“I think collars should be part of your look from now on. I’ll get them to ship over a few more-- one for each day of the week.” He has the same grin he gets when he’s asking Victor to peel faces off. “Fuck me, I’m tired. Let’s nap.” He puts a hand around Victor’s wrist and closes his eyes. 

Victor turns his eyes to the ceiling, and tries to relax into the cloud of a bed that smells like Roman. That’s four out of five work days Roman has spent with him this week. Victor wants that last day, and the weekends, too. 

It’s nice to have a goal to work toward.

**Author's Note:**

> obligatory disclaimer: this is not an informative text about kink, lol! 
> 
> i know much is made about victor's hideous shirts, but that black shirt looks pretty expensive, and he wears some fancy rings. i feel like roman definitely has some ideas about how he should dress. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading, have a great night everybody


End file.
